


This means War

by Celticas



Series: Trope Bingo [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Halloween, I hope, With A Twist, trope bingo, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 00:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticas/pseuds/Celticas
Summary: How had things come to this? Ritual humiliation and objectification all at the hands of the one he loved.
Relationships: clint barton/ phil coulson
Series: Trope Bingo [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518110
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44
Collections: Clint/Coulson Trope Bingo





	This means War

He felt ridiculous. He shifted his shoulders and fiddled with his clothes, trying to get more comfortable. His wings were driving him crazy. The feathers were itchy against his bare skin, and the wide appendages were throwing off his centre of gravity. It didn’t help that the scrap of cotton Clint had tossed to him covered just enough that he wouldn’t be charged with indecent exposure. Hopefully. Just imagine, a Senior Agent of SHIELD arrested by the NYPD for flashing civilians. He would never live it down.

How had he let this happen?

= + =

The mission had gone well. Clint would even, maybe, be willing to say it was the smoothest a mission had gone in his whole career, his whole life even. At least, he would be willing to say that once they were safely extracted. Superstition sitting deep under his skin. He wasn’t going to risk jinxing them now. For now they had completed the mission objectives a good twelve hours ahead of schedule. Which was great. Except now they were stuck in the safe house for even longer.

He could sit motionless in a nest for days on end. But once the op was done, he got fidgety. As if the days of suppressed energy and motion was trying to get out all at once. Coulson was starting to get that pinched expression as he worked on the AARs, he was annoyed but trying not to snap. Trying to let Clint get it out of his system. The original timeline would have had them on the exfil only a few hours after finishing the mission, Clint would have held it in and then disappeared to the gym or the range once they were back at HQ. Unfortunately there wasn’t room to get away in the tiny studio apartment in the centre of Tokyo.

Sighing, Coulson gave up on his paperwork. The agent falling away to be replaced by Phil, Clint’s long term partner and all-round nerd.

“War?” Phil waved a pack of cards in the air.

“Wager?” Clint asked, stopping for the first time in hours.

They had played a lot of War, from ice caverns in the arctic to grass huts in the Sahara. Sometimes they played to play, other times they played for something. With how jittery he was feeling, he needed the higher stakes.

Phil thought for a moment. “Winner chooses the loser’s costume for the Halloween party.” It was the biggest event in SHIELD’s social calendar and the outfits made or broke your reputation for the rest of the year. It was juvenile, and ridiculous, and they both loved it.

“Deal.” 

They shook on it.

Cards flew. Hands snapping out to claim their prize. Piles growing and shrinking as the advantage shifted from one of them to the other. Inch by inch, Clint took the higher ground and kept it. His pile steadily growing. After a hard fought battle, he claimed victory. The fight had succeeded in burning off his energy.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Phil sat back, a bright gleam in his eye. He knew whatever Clint came up with was going to be embarrassing, but he revelled in the other man’s happiness.

“Hmmm. I think I’m going to let it be a surprise.” Clint gathered up the cards, and shuffled the deck back into the box, a few card tricks mixed in to keep his hand in. Cards appearing and disappearing.

Groaning, Phil clamped a hand over his eyes, more demonstrative of his emotions in that moment than he was in a month at SHIELD. This wasn’t going to end well for him.

= + =

Clint’s grin was irrepressible as they entered the largest conference room at the New York base. He hadn’t  _ stopped  _ grinning since he had unveiled the costume an hour ago. The large oval table had been magically disappeared, or disassembled by a group of Junior Agents, and the space filled with ghosts and ghouls, tacky two dollar decorations that would only get worse as the night wore on, strung around the walls. A snack table on one side and an open bar on the other.

Dressed in red and black leather, with horns and a tail that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Blockbuster movie set, Clint was an eye-catching, grinning, Satan. Phil wasn’t as happy. White wings, a loincloth, and a kids bow and arrow went together to turn the Senior Agent into a scowling Cupid.

Drunken whistles broke out at their entrance. The catcalls could have been aimed at either of them. Maria’s follow up, shouted ‘Lookin’ good Coulson!’ put to rest any doubt about who was being objectified.

The scowl deepened on his face, his free hand creeping down to make sure everything that should be covered was covered. Clint disappeared into the crowd, the sounds of him exchanging greetings with the agents he got along with marking his path to the bar. A cheer greeting the archer when he reached his goal.

Phil wasn’t left on his own for long. Fury, dressed as a passable Jack Sparrow, sidled up beside him.

“How did he convince you to wear those?” He indicated the wings with the hand holding what smelled like 100% proof fruit punch.

“Bet.” Phil grumbled. Watching the glee on Clint’s face as he matched shots with Maria and May, he felt some of the annoyance lifting.

He struggled to keep that lightning spirit in the face of Fury’s smirk. Nick knew the long and colourful history of Clint and Phil’s bets. “Fuck of Marcus.” Phil muttered, barely audible over the crowd, before moving away. If he was going to get through the night, he was going to need alcohol.

“PHIL!” Clint tried to step towards him, but got tangled in his tail and pitchfork. Tumbling forward, Phil caught his arm a second before the archer would have face planted on the floor. “My hero.” He smiled up at him, making no effort to right himself.

“God marry me, you idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on [Tumblr](https://quartzcelticas.tumblr.com/). Come say 'hi'.


End file.
